


Happy Ending

by cotton_prima



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Doomed Timeline, F/M, Fluff, Knitting, Married Life, Pregnancy, anxieties about parenthood, but like normal anxieties, that's a nice life you got there, would be a shame if something were to happen to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cotton_prima/pseuds/cotton_prima
Summary: Ultimately, their story ends in tragedy, in death and dragonfire. But before that, they’d had a happy ending.A doomed timeline fic.
Relationships: Frederick/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Happy Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Any story can be happy if you end it early enough.

They are late and Frederick is restless.

A mudslide along the eastern border pass had forced the convoy to find alternative passage, costing them half a day of travel. The emissary was unbothered by this, as were the soldiers. It is hardly a significant delay, a small wrinkle in an otherwise smooth escort mission to Plegia. A minor mission, at that. The emissary had toured the Plegian countryside, passing through several small towns and meeting with local officials, all low in rank. The soldiers had taken their duties seriously. He had trained them, after all, and would endure no sloppiness, even on a routine assignment such as this. But no one had seriously expected trouble, and they had encountered none.

Besides, it is peacetime. It has been over two years since hostilities with Plegia ceased, and while the memory of war lingers, it has taken on the rosy tinge of history. Today, Ylisse’s borders are unharried, and the sky is mild with spring. A mudslide is not sabotage, and the emissary bears no urgent news. Why work the horses? Why rush?

Because Frederick is eager to be home. Not that he tells the soldiers this.

It is nearly noon when Ylisstol crests into view—the bright, hilled city. It has hardly been a month since he glimpsed it, yet the sight of the castle draws fresh yearning from his chest. Frederick rides harder, much to the consternation of his platoon, who must keep his pace. They know better than to grumble, however.

They make good time. In just a few hours, the clap of hooves echoes through the castle courtyard. The emissary excuses herself. She is no longer young, and as there is nothing pressing to report, she would like a night’s rest before her audience with the Exalt. Frederick would have liked to excuse himself, too. But he must see to it that the horses are stabled, that the wagons are unloaded and that their contents are all accounted for. And after he dismisses the soldiers to their barracks, he must make his report to Chrom.

He finds his lord in the garden, arms full of squealing child. He has just pulled his daughter back from a rose bush, but she struggled still, her delicate hands grasping at its thorns.

“I have returned, sire.”

“Ah, Frederick. Welcome home.” Chrom’s smile is warm, if distracted. “How were your travels? We were expecting you last night, but—Lucina, please.”

Sensing her father’s attention drift, the little princess had begun to pull at his collar. She has only a child’s strength, and yet it is all Chrom could to do keep her in his arms. Frederick vaguely remembers a time when Chrom had been so unruly. To the point of consequence. No such consequences exist for Lucina, who laughs when Chrom capitulates and plucks a rose for her to play with. He is not his father.

“Excuse us,” he says as Lucina gleefully tears the rose to shreds. “She just woke up from a nap and has all the energy in the world.”

_Something to look forward to_ , Frederick thinks.

“She has grown.”

“Hasn’t she?” His face is all pride. “Lucina, look, it’s Frederick.”

She glances up at him. He is less interesting than her flower.

“Have you seen Robin yet?” Chrom asks.

“Not yet,” he says. The restlessness stirs in him again, but he pushes it down. Duty first. “My report—”

“I’m sure I’ll hear all about it from Lady Evelyn, once she is rested. No urgent news from Plegia, I take it?”

“No. But—”

“Then you should go to her. Anything you report to her I’m sure I’ll hear eventually. Besides, my schedule is quite full at the moment.”

As if to prove her father’s point, Lucina smushes a fistful of bruised petals against his chin. He hardly flinches, used to it by now.

“Thank you,” Frederick says, bowing. Then he turns and leaves the garden.

His and Robin’s quarters are on almost the opposite side of the castle. He does not run. That would be undignified for a knight of his station. And think of the panic it would cause, to see him running through the castle halls as if from fire. But he does walk very quickly.

_Home_ , he thinks, which is silly because it has been nearly an hour since his return. He thinks it anyhow.

Robin is working when he finds her. It is a common sight—papers and books strewn, her posture terrible, a smudge of ink across her cheek—yet his heart leaps at it. She is so absorbed that it takes her a moment to notice him at the door. Surprise flashes across her face.

“You’re back,” she breathes.

“I am,” he replies.

“Have you seen Chrom?”

_That’s Robin_ , he thinks. Her husband returns after a month’s journey, and the first thing she wants to know is whether he’s made his report. Of course, Frederick cannot claim to be much different.

“I have. He sent me to you.”

The pair they make.

Robin stands, and there is a stiffness to it, a tightening at the edges of her mouth. Her hand braces her swollen belly. Lucina is not the only one who has grown in his absence.

“You’re a little late,” she chides. “Everything went alright?”

“Yes. My apologies. I hope you did not wait up for me last night.”

“I had work,” Robin says as she draws close to him. Or as close as she can. In Frederick’s rush, he has neglected to doff his armor. She taps her knuckles against his breastplate.

“Want me to help you out of this?” she asks.

“If it is not too much trouble.”

This draws a breath of laughter. She looks up at him, eyes bright with wit and tenderness.

“You’re worth the trouble.”

In truth, he doesn’t need the help—Frederick could doff and don his armor in his sleep. But it is nice to have a task between them again. He tells her about the mission as they work. The outer towns are recovering. Much of the farmlands have been recovered, and production is nearly back to pre-war levels. The roads are kept in better condition than last year, though there was a mudslide at the border. May take some time to repair. There is still the occasional problem of brigands. No, they had not encountered any. But it was rumored that former Plegian soldiers led them. Deserters, perhaps. If true, it is something to keep an eye on.

“And did Lady Evelyn behave herself?” Robin asks.

“She was jovial as always, but there were no problems.”

“Good,” she says, her relief plain. The same cannot be said of all envoys to Plegia. “In that case, I look forward to hearing her full report.”

She removes his plackart and sets it aside. He feels lighter than he has in weeks.

“All done,” she says. Her hands loop unimpeded around his neck. “Welcome home.”

Has it really been a month since he kissed her? It feels longer. It feels like no time at all. Robin is solid in his arms, her scent sweet and familiar, and he feels restlessness of a different kind. He deepens the kiss. It is a mistake.

“You’ve been eating bear.”

“You noticed.” She laughs at his wrinkled nose. “Oh Freddybear, it wasn’t to spite you! I don’t control my cravings!”

“Since when have you craved bear?”

“Since a couple weeks back. I—Oh.” She frowns, her good humor evaporating. Her hand goes to her stomach. “The little tyrant’s at it again.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Imagine if something crawled inside of you and started kicking.”

Her words are dry, but there is no spark in them. She looks tired, Frederick thinks, ashamed that he had not noticed sooner. It has been a long month for him, but an even longer month for her.

Robin sighs. She goes to their divan and sits, and even that seems to take effort.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be short with you,” she says. “It doesn’t really hurt. But the kicking kept me up last night, and my legs are sore for no reason.”

He feels a tinge of guilt, as if it is his fault her legs ache. In an attenuated way, it is.

“Can I bring you anything?” he asks. She shakes her head, then pats the spot next to her. Frederick sits, and she slumps against him, the weight of her body a simple intimacy. He has missed this.

_I should not have left_ , Frederick thinks for the hundredth, thousandth time. He could have been with her this past month. He could have declined the mission. It was at his option to go, and he had not been necessary to its success. Surely Robin could have found someone else to escort the envoy.

And yet she had asked him. And he had accepted.

At the time, it had felt like a test.

(“That’s stupid,” Lissa had said.)

(“You’re sure about that?” Chrom had asked.)

But it had been important to them. He had seen it in Robin’s face when she told him over breakfast one morning that she needed someone to escort Lady Evelyn to Plegia. She had spoken lightly, as if asking him to pass the butter. But she had been serious. And with that same seriousness, he told her he would go.

Could they carry on their duties as usual? Could they, if asked, make that hard choice? The answer was yes, they could. But they had been miserable about it, and in retrospect, it seems silly. Tests of strength are common enough for knights, but he is not only a knight to her. He hopes she will not ask him to go again.

“My mother said that I was difficult to carry, too,” Robin says after some time. She has that look she gets whenever she talks about her mother. Cautious grief. “I should have asked her more questions. She always had answers, or at least tricked you into thinking she did.”

“That sounds like someone I know.”

That wins him an appreciative smile. But her grief seeps into it.

“I wish you could have met her.”

“I wish so, too.”

He wishes he could have met her mother. He wishes she could have met his. The silence that follows is full of ghosts. Robin shifts against him. At times like this, he swears he can hear her thoughts churning.

“I have been thinking about them a lot this past month,” she says. “My parents.”

The plural is unexpected.

“Parents?”

“Yes.” A pause. “I told you I didn’t know my father, right?”

He nods. She hadn’t, actually. Not in so many words. But Frederick had figured it out from the way she talked around him.

“As a child, I made up so many stories about him,” Robin continues. “He’s been everything from a scoundrel to a saint. Yet another thing I didn’t ask my mother about.”

“She never told you about him?”

“I think she wanted to. There were a couple of times that she…Well, she didn’t. Truthfully, I didn’t want to know. I thought that, no matter what kind of person he was, I would be disappointed. Knowing wouldn’t bring him to us, anyway, so what was the point? He wasn’t a necessary part of our lives, and I wanted to keep it that way. And I think I turned out alright.”

“I am inclined to agree.”

“She did her best. I didn’t need him.”

“Yes.”

“But I would like our child to know their father.”

Ah. So that’s what this is about. Robin glances up at him, her smile apologetic.

“I’m glad the mission went smoothly,” she says. “I’m glad there was no trouble. But after you left, I…I wished I hadn’t sent you. I’m not sure I could do it again. If anything had happened to you…”

Affection opens like a flower in his chest—she didn’t want him to go. He hadn’t meant to make her worry, of course. But in their time together, Frederick has learned it’s not so bad to be worried over once and a while. If he’s not careful, he might get used to it.

“Alright,” he says.

“Alright?” she asks. She pulls away from him slightly, staring hard at his face. “You’re not upset?”

He blinks, surprised by her surprise, then confused. They were in agreement that he should stay, weren’t they? So why does she look troubled? What is this really about?

“I’m not upset. Why would I be?”

“Well, it would keep you here, wouldn’t it? I don’t want you to go, but I don’t want to force you to stay, either.”

It takes him a bit to parse her meaning. He doesn’t care for it when he does.

“We are married, Robin,” he says, struggling to keep the frustration from his voice.

“And you have other duties, as do I. But you would not keep me from mine. You wouldn’t make me give that up.” Her lips tighten into a hollow smile. “Besides, you’d miss being out in the field. It’s not so interesting being cooped up in the castle. And I know I’m not the most fun to be around right now.”

Frederick takes a deep breath. She is brilliant, perhaps the most brilliant person he knows. But sometimes, like now, her thoughts eat each other. The result is absurdity. Has she been thinking all month on this?

He really should not have left.

“You are not making me do anything,” he says. “It is not only your decision whether I go or stay. I _want_ to be here with you.”

“You do?”

“Yes. You are dearer to me than you know, Robin. Please do not doubt that. If I had to see your face every day for the rest of my life, it would be no sacrifice.”

“Oh. I didn’t mean to imply…Well.” Slowly, her expression settles into understanding. Her smile turns sheepish. “I suppose I overthought that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Sorry about that. But you know, that’s probably the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“You don’t think me romantic usually?”

“Not in the conventional sense,” she says, patting his arm. “Anyhow, thank you for that. I love you, too.”

Frederick clears his throat and turns his face away. They are past the honeymooning period, and he should be used to those words by now. His blush betrays that he is not.

“Chrom will understand if I don’t recommend you for missions, right?” she asks. “At least for the time being.”

He nods. “I think he understood before we did.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” There is a lightness to Robin’s words. When he looks back at her, her eyes are fond. Yes, he thinks, if he could see her face every day for the rest of his life, he would count himself lucky. “You’ll really stay?”

“Of course. As long as you’ll have me.”

“Then I’ll talk to Chrom tomorrow,” she says. “You haven’t eaten since you got back, right? Are you hungry?”

“I can hold out until supper.”

“Are you sure? I could always share my bear jerky.”

“…I appreciate the offer, but I must decline.”

“Oh!”

He jumps. Is the baby kicking again? Is she in pain? Has something gone horribly wrong? But no, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Robin stands and hurries to her desk. She returns holding…something.

“I almost forgot! I made this while you were gone.”

“You’ve gotten into my yarn, I see. I didn’t know you were interested in knitting.”

“Chrom suggested I take up a hobby. What do you think?” she asks, triumphantly handing him her creation.

What _does_ he think? It is a small, lumpy thing, soft and sky blue. Vaguely triangular in shape? The stitching is awkward, and the rows are crooked. Frederick has no clue what he is holding.

“It’s for the baby?” he asks.

“It’s for you.”

“A hat?”

“Gloves.”

“Gloves?”

“Well, _a_ glove.”

He takes a second look, but it helps little. He cannot tell where his fingers are supposed to go, and there is no way a brim that wide would stay on his wrist. It would make more sense if it were a hat. But well…

“Well?” she presses, her face gleefully expectant.

“Thank you, Robin,” he says. “It is a brave first effort. But it is quite bad.”

“Isn’t it?” she laughs. “I asked Chrom if I could fit it on his hand, and when he saw it…oh, you should have seen his face! He looked almost heartbroken!”

“I can imagine.”

“I am sorry to have wasted your yarn, though. Is there any way to unravel it?”

She reaches over to take back the “glove,” but he pulls it away.

“I’m keeping it.”

“What? Frederick, it’s awful!”

“Yes. And it’s the first thing you’ve ever knitted for me. I shall cherish it accordingly.”

“It still seems like a waste of yarn.”

“I have more yarn. We all must start somewhere, and I assure you, my first project was no masterpiece.”

“Was it this bad?”

“Of course not.”

“Alright, now I don’t know whether you’re being sweet or teasing. Both, I suppose.” Robin frowns to keep from grinning, but it is a losing effort. She laces her fingers between his. “I missed you,” she says. “Perhaps it isn’t fair for me to say this, but I feel like we took the long way to get here.”

She is right, perhaps. They have spent a month clumsily tying themselves in knots over nothing, only to emerge from it hardly and farther than they’d started.

“But here we are,” Frederick says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. This month is behind them now, and yet he cannot think of it as a waste. They have many months ahead of them, and it had all worked out in the end, hadn’t it?

In the end, they are alright.


End file.
